The Six Types of Love

SILAS

My mom just sits there with me until I stop sobbing. There is nothing she can say. She doesn't know how to comfort me. Neither of my parents have seen me cry since I was a kid which only adds an odd tension to the air. Eventually, the tears stop, and I ask Mom how everything has been. She tells me that some reporters came to the house yesterday, but that my dad turned them all down. Thankfully, Cincinnati is a little too irrelevant for all these news channels. After I get myself together, my parents and I decide to go out for dinner.

They take me to Phoenix Mall which has grown to be about five times as large as it was when I was in high school. The outdoor plazas have many more local restaurants and stores, and they have added floors to the internal parts as well. My parents and I settle on eating at The Cheesecake Factory, the awkward energy from before we left still holding the three of us captive. This is the first time I am seeing them since they came to help me move out of Joel's house. As we sit down at the red booth, we begin to talk about small things. I tell them about some of my clients, the UNCCC, and how SF is becoming too large for me because I miss nature.

My parents in return tell me about how much they are enjoying being retired because it has given them the time to volunteer at our church, Holy Immaculation, Umbridge Academy, Grace's high school, and at St. Edmund. At the mention of the last name, the unspoken topic in the air becomes unbearable.

We sit in the moody lighting of the brown and red booth with Ayush's presence more visible than ever. The high ceilings feel suffocating. I notice how much both my parents have aged more so than before. My dad has lost all his hair, and my mom has many more wrinkles. I always knew they were on the older side, but this makes it feel a little too real. My dad and mom had me when they were 43 and 33 respectively, so their age makes sense relative to mine. I just never realized the basic arithmetic of time could be so brutal.

I am again reminded that during high school I wanted to value the time that I had left with my parents. I never realized that after college, I could count on two hands how many times I had seen them. I offered to fly them out so many times, but they always said no. They couldn't afford to come and see me but didn't want to be a burden.

"How did you guys run into each other?" My mom asks as she takes a bite of her green rice, careful not to drop it on her elegant black dress.

"We kind of just met and then I decided to follow him to Italy because I had a bit of leeway between meeting clients," I respond, taking a bite of my pasta, not wanting to tell my parents the whole truth and hoping that they don't pry.

"So you just casually flew across the world for him," My dad asks, rolling up his red sauce pasta on his fork and squinting at me for more details.

"Yeah. Kind of like how your first date lasted a whole week. The fun never stops," I try to sound cheery, attempting to make my parents see the similarities between them and me and Ayush.

"I would prefer if you didn't compare your father and I to you and...him," My mom retorts. They never liked Ayush, and after news got out that The Six Types of Love was real, they somehow liked him even less.

"I understand," I state, getting a sour taste in my mouth.

After a few seconds of silence, the conversation turns towards my parents' social lives. They tell me how their friends meet often, and all the kids come down with their families for every holiday. They always miss me. Apparently, Grace and Ryan bring the kids back up to Cincinnati once a month too. My parents always wanted grandchildren and it pains me that I couldn't even stay married long enough to consider having kids.

We talk about the same small things over New York cheesecake. I feel like I am getting to know complete strangers. How could eight years change this much about the people who raised me? It stings that my parents will look back at the last part of their lives and I won't be in it. I always loved being alone, but I never realized that being alone meant eventually feeling lonely. After I pay the bill, we leave, and I sit down at my desk to check some emails.

I had been slowly catching up on all my work during the flight back. My team had dealt with my absence very well. They barely even need me. Not having much to do, I decide to go to bed.